


Hawk and Halla

by Of Elves and Wolves (Only2morrow)



Series: Hawk and Halla, the Orion and Ella Series [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, First Kiss, Light Dom/sub, Loss of Virginity, OC Kiss Week, Sexual Content, Sexual Metaphors, Smut, Sweet, lots of smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 01:17:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5689024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only2morrow/pseuds/Of%20Elves%20and%20Wolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After saving Hawke at Adamant, the Inquisitor finds herself sharing a steamy moment of gratitude with the man known as The Champion of Kirkwall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The chill of Skyhold found its way into the great room of the Inquisitor. Though a flame roared in her fireplace, the room still seemed so cold, so empty. Ella pursed her lips as she peered down at the lavish desk before her, purchased within the grand city of Val Royeaux.

Papers upon papers covered the mahogany, each with their own sets of requests and needs. Each begging a moment of time from the mighty Inquisitor. It was maddening to be pulled in so many directions. Josephine required her time to meet a member of the Rivani nobility, Cullen required her time to inspect the troops, Leliana required a moment to discuss the establishment of safe houses.

And the Champion required….

Well, she knew what the Champion required.

From the moment she stepped upon the battlements and laid eyes upon the great Champion of Kirkwall, her thoughts had occupied little less. He was every bit the hero Varric described, a living legend. He had defeated great evils, defended the mages of Kirkwall from the tyranny of the dreaded Knight Commander, staved off a Qunari invasion…

All on his own.

The man was a marvel.

An arrogant marvel.

But a marvel none the less.

He was simply so… infuriating.

If she could only deny the sparks between the two, her world would be so much easier. Why hadn’t she taken interest in a different man? Someone safe like Solas. A man such as Solas would never leave her in such a state. Solas would never leave her with nothing but cast-iron scowls and frustrated feelings.

Instead, her heart gravitated to the Champion.

Orion Hawke was simply so… unashamed in his interest. When she found herself in his presence, he made no attempt to hide his smirks. He did not hide his smug nature with humility. It was maddening, and she could not get enough.

Creators! What was wrong with her?

It was bad enough that the man looked as if he had been sculpted by the gods themselves. His golden hair seemed to be made for only her hands, his muscled arms for holding her close, the scruff upon his chin made for tickling her inner thigh.

What did he look like without that patented armor on? What secrets did Hawke still hide from the world? What-

With each new thought, her mouth seemed to dry even further.

This is what he had done to her.

Creators, she hated him.

She glowered down at the request below.

Lady Lavellan, the Champion of Kirkwall requests that you accompany him to…

A soft knock on the door broke her concentration, and thankfully broke the blush blossoming on her cheeks. She scowled as she stood from the desk, pushing her chair to it’s proper place before walking to the door in her room. Still frowning, she wished she last bits of blush from her cheeks before opening the grand door.

The Champion.

Of course it was him.

A grin rolled over the champion’s mouth as Ella leveled a cold, blue stare at his handsome face. He held his hands up in a gesture of peace, easy and relaxed despite the woman’s open vitriol.

“Easy, Keeper. I’m not about to carry you off like the villain in some torrid novel. I was the hero in my story, remember? I don’t abduct and ravish young maidens—unless they ask me sweetly.”

Chuckling at the flare of red that crept over the Inquisitor’s cheeks, Orion Hawke leaned against the wall, that easy smile lingering as he continued, “My sister, Bethany, was always fond of those silly books. The ones where some dastardly villain makes off with the hero’s love, and leaves her in some considerable distress.”

“I’ve found myself playing hero more times than I care to count. More times than I’ve wished for, truth be told.” There was a bitter edge playing into his smile. Something that appeared each time someone mentioned Kirkwall. Something that could not be soothed by bard’s songs and swooning maids. Not even Varric’s masterpiece had managed to vanquish its presence.

But when Orion looked at Ella, something softened. It slipped into his gaze, his voice, as he admitted, “It’s been some time since I’ve been in the position of being rescued. Even when assisted, I’ve always been the hero. The leader.”

Something peculiar flashed through the Champion’s eyes. Something that Ella could not pin down. “The one always asked to die. For a righteous cause, for spite…it is always the hero called to give his life.”

“I wasn’t the hero at Adamant. You were, Ella. And you saw fit to rescue me.” That brilliant grin returned in force, as he stepped forward. “I believe that in such instances, the damsel in distress offers his savior a gift for her heroic deeds.”

And with that, Orion swept the elven Inquisitor right into his arms, and kissed her soundly.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, forgetting every last thought of utter frustration. Her body melted into his, every last bit of her curling into him. The feel of his lips was even sweeter than she had imagined, her heart seemed to beat out of her chest with every movement of his mouth upon hers.

The Champion of Kirkwall looked like the cat that had swallowed the cream, long fingers closing over her small hand, gently lifting it to his mouth.

The golden bristles of his beard tickled her pale skin, and his eyes were wicked and bright as twin emeralds, his gaze sliding along her small, supple form in a manner that was utterly indecent.

“Shall we?” The arrogance, the assumption in his voice, was enough to draw a frown over her lips, and a chuckle from his own.

“You blush so prettily.” He murmured, voice smooth and rich as dark whiskey. “I wonder how much you might redden, were I to kiss you here, once again.”

His thumb, warm and callused, brushed over her lips.

“Or, perhaps even lower.” Orion could not stop a smirk, as his thumb dipped low, smoothing along her chin, and gliding down the column of her throat, mapping the quiver of her pulse.

He stopped just before he could cross the line of her collar. Before he could smooth his fingers over the small rise of her breasts, toy with the softness beneath the fabric of her clothes. Instead, he drew his fingers upward, cupping her jaw, and tilting her head upward to meet his kiss.

He was no shy, awkward boy. No stumbling hunter, eager to boast his prowess in the woods, but all rough hands and jarring limbs in a bonding ritual. He had no need to brag upon himself. His skill was evident in his touch. Teasing, tantalizing. Stroking her tongue and lips with just enough heat, just enough pressure to entice.

Had the Keeper been standing, she would have found it hard to keep doing so. Her lips seemed to have a mind all their own. They moved along Orion’s, those two pink lines betraying the indignation she was still trying to feel.

The Champion was simply so…encompassing. There was no other word for it. When he kissed a woman, her entire world was him. When he seduced, it was completely. There was no resisting his charms, no turning back with a scowl.

That blooming rose on her cheeks reddened as she struggled to retain her senses. But they seemed to have abandoned her. She tried again to scowl at her own cheeks, the pesky things giving away the depths of her innocence. She was a wild halla in the woods, untouched even by the Dalish and ripe for Andruil’s hunt.

Her hand held something of a tremble as she walked to the table and picked up a wine bottle (A thing she’d never thought to use), immediately pouring herself a glass… and downing it. The liquid burned as it slid down her throat–or rather tingled, numbing some of those lost senses. And instilling a little courage in turn.

Maybe this would be easier if he was an elf. Someone she knew, not someone she’d heard outlandish stories about. Some of which even contained rumors of Asha'belannar. He seemed more of a myth than a person at all, even the stories of his looks were…well…no, those seemed to be true.

And yet… a small part of her felt… exited?

No. That couldn’t be it… could it? What would the clan say if they found her kissing the Champion of Kirkwall?

They would all be jealous, that’s what.

Still, Ella needed time to process all of this. Time to think. Time to plan… time to.

Wait… was he stripping already?

By Mythal, he was.

That rosy pink in her cheeks deepened to crimson. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen a nude form before. She was a healer. She’d seen her fair share of naked men before.

But none of them had been here, in her room.

When she turned, the Keeper was treated to a marvelous sight. He was large, larger than the men of her clan and gifted with… scruff. For a moment, she pondered if such a thing would hurt. Wouldn’t it be better to be… smoother?

Still, those whiskers hadn’t been too rough when they’d kissed. Perhaps it would be fine.

Taking another gulp of her wine, the Keeper looked to the Champion. Though she was still blushing, her excitement grew. Delicately, the Keeper stripped off the first of her armor, letting the lambswool cloth hit the floor below.

Dalish did not wear the frilly things of the shemlen world. When she stripped off the leathered bottom, half of her robe dropped to the floor below.

Even with the mottled red of her blush, the Keeper was a sight. Her tanned skin gleamed in the candlelight of the room. Her legs were muscled and toned, sculpted from years of walking, of combing through ruins. And yet, there was a softness to her, a bit of delicate femininity untouched by the hard life of the Dalish, and crafted from those stolen moments with books and vials.

The Keeper turned away for a moment before she came to her smalls. She wore no band upon the rise of her breasts, as Dalish had no need for such things. Instead her bosom held a perk all its own. Slowly, Ella let the silky green of her undergarments fall to the ground below her, standing as nude now as she had while washing herself under a cool waterfall in the forest.

Tentatively, Ella walked to the bed, crawling in like a fawn touching water for the first time. Still, something of a shy smile crept up upon her face as she looked to the Champion, seeing nothing but a charming smile.

Dread Wolf, take her.

It was no wolf that preyed on the woman this evening, but a fox. Cunning and wicked in his eyes and smile, something like hunger playing against his face as he viewed the young woman.


	2. Chapter 2

Ella half-expected the man to lick his chops as his gaze laid over her bare form. But no, such an act was far too crass, to base, for such an occasion. And the Champion certainly knew how to tailor his methods.

His fingers played at the loops of his belt, before he thought better of it, and left it intact. This was a seduction, after all. It was clear by the look on her face that she’d never seen a naked man in her life. Or if she had, they had all been slim, fine creatures. Taut in their limbs, gifted with pointed ears, and smooth skin.

Orion had never been a soft sort. He had every intention of devouring the little morsel before him, but there was no need for him to be brutish about the matter. He was quite capable of tenderness, when he wished it.

The champion soon sat cross-legged on the bed, fingers locking into Ella’s hips, and bringing her into his lap, legs woven about his waist.

Something hard notched against the silken core of the elven woman’s body, and her face flushed crimson, realizing what dwelled beneath his breeches. That blush only deepened when his eyes swept downward, and centered upon the intimate mound of flesh.

She attempted to shut her thighs, as he knew she would. But his fingers played over her knees and down the length of her thighs, rubbing soothing circles along bronzed skin. Encouraging her to stay open before him.

Finally, his fingers loomed upward, catching her delicate wrists, and flattening one palm against his face. The other, along his shoulder.

“Touch me.” He encouraged, a roguish grin splitting his face wide, as her nails dragged through the coarse bristles of his beard. “Find what it is you like.”

It was obvious that the rogue had every intention of doing the same, as a knuckle brushed along the hollow of her throat. Shivers of heat followed in its wake, as he dragged it low between the valley of her breasts, not stopping until he reached the slash of her navel, and reversing his path.

“I can hardly fathom that you’ve remained untouched for all these years.” A lazy smile slid over his mouth, voice now husky from arousal, as the pad of a thumb traced the lower lining of her lip. “Lovely thing that you are.”

“Had I been a member of your clan, you never would have known a moment’s peace.” The rogue informed her, balancing back on the heel of his palm, and nudging the thickness beneath his breeches up high, catching against her at a new angle. One that made her back arch, before she could stop herself.

The other set of fingers settled into hair the color of tree bark, wrapping a silky tress around his fingers. He brought it to his nose, taking in the scent of wildflowers and elfroot. Of parchment dust and wood smoke. “I’d have swam to the heart of a swamp, simply to pluck a bushel of dawn lotus, and hope that it would brighten your day. I would have brought you skinned rabbits, fresh from the hunt. Treasures from overrun ruins. Parchment with old prayers. Potions and spells. The bloody Suilevan blade, if I could find it.”

“And these.” That rapscallion’s grin returned in full force, as his fingers edged beneath her breasts. He slid along the slopes until he could lift them even higher, eyes locked upon the tight points of her nipples, and thumbs soon reaching out to circle them. “I’d have carved images of these into every tree I crossed.”

“Nothing quite compares to the reality, however. Mythal herself could be envious of these.” Orion murmured, head bending low, and bristled jaw teasing the swells, as he peppered her cleavage with kisses. Finally, he settled upon a single nipple, and drew it into his mouth with a lewd suck.

Breath would not come easy to the Keeper at the moment. No. Breath was a mere luxury. Her mind and body were far more occupied with what was happening to her breasts. There was such a... sensation from them. Her nipples stood as high now as on a cold winter’s day and yet...no mere wind had ever linked two parts of her body so completely.

By Mythal...it would not stop. The sensation only traveled further, like that cool wind, making each hair along the nape of her neck stand to attention.

Her lips parted if only for a moment, rewarding the rouge's machinations with a moan.

That indignant blush only burned deeper, her scowl threatening to return to her cheeks. How... base of her. She was not a woman to do such things.

Was this…was this truly what she'd missed all these years? Fenedhis lasa! Why hadn't she done this sooner? The blond whiskers upon that roguish face tickled her for a moment, eliciting an even more indignant giggle.

Now she was certainly gone.

And yet, even in her irritability, she was...curious.

The Champion had given her an open invitation to explore his body. To see what wonders lay beneath those breeches. And while she was not usually a woman so... open, she found herself exploring his body even more.

Those hands, used before only for spells and potions, explored the hard plane of Orion's chest. She took a moment to marvel at each and every scar he held. What manner of fiends had he'd come across to wound him so? Was it a dreaded Templar? A Tevinter magister? A demon?

But their bodies were crafted by the life they led... weren't they? She held her own scars, her own marks. A small spot on her breast, a large line on her thigh, a notch on her left arm, a groove along the hand. Each told a story written in the book of the body.

Green vallaslin beamed beneath that blush as those spell marked hands began reaching lower. Breathless, she unbuckled his breeches. It wasn't as if she'd never done such a thing before, but this was... different. This was no clinical healing. This was for... something better.

She unlaced the fabric until that hardened length stood right up. She gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. The branches of walnut-shaded hair drifted over her cheeks, covering some of her embarrassment.

“Ir abelas.” she apologized, another little giggle escaping her. She hadn't been prepared for *that*. Certainly something like it, but this man was... well endowed. And harder than she imagined. Perhaps that was the blushing difference between experiences. In her time as a healer, she'd never seen anything so... erect.

Gently, as if balancing the world in her palm, the Keeper placed one hand over the Champion inspecting the design. Impossibly, it only became harder in her grasp. Her hand began moving up and down along his length.

Flames flickered in his eyes, and something tightened in his jaw as her hand flexed against him. But he stilled himself. He knew better than to overwhelm her. To thrust in her hand like some untried boy. She was curious, but cautious. Any sudden movements would only frighten her. Send her scurrying away like the halla she once tended.

Slowly, his fingers closed over her own. Showing her how to touch him. Feather light strokes that soon turned into a strong grasp. Stronger than she might have believed he would wish, as he encouraged her to tug at his length. To wet her palm with the flat of her tongue, and drive her fingers over him, again and again.

But the Champion knew his limits, and soon took her fingers to his lips, drawing another coarse kiss over the knuckles. “You do this too well. It would be very unsporting of me to end matters prematurely.”

Those fingers clasped over her waist, and smoothed over the curve of her backside, groping her with easy interest, as he laid her down against the mattress.

He seemed impossibly large as he loomed over her. His eyes were bright as sun-warmed leaves, drinking in every bronzed inch of succulent flesh. As promised, he was going to devour her this evening.

Orion started with her mouth. A simple kiss at first. A mere brushing of lips, before his tongue teased against the seam. Encouraging her to open, to allow him entrance, and to explore his own. A duel, slick and pink. One that left a stubble-burn at the corner of her mouth, and a tingle upon her lips.

Next, he found her throat. Sucked the juncture of her collar, and left a mark that would surely appear red, and angry, the next day. A small bite, upon the sharp bone. A token of his primal affections.

He teased her breasts once more. First pointing his tongue along the cusp of a nipple, then flattening it. Drawing the whole of his tongue across the pebbled rise, before he took it into his mouth once more, tugging with those splendid lips, and then catching the point between his teeth in a sharp nip.

Shock colored her face scarlet as Orion swept even lower over her skin, teasing his tongue over the indentions of her ribs, and dipping it into the hollow of her navel. 

And as she had suspected, his fingers closed over her knees, parting her wide, and levying her legs over his shoulders.

His tongue languished over the scar inside her thigh, and drew upward, licking the seam of her intimate flesh. Toying over layers of pink chiffon.

His mouth was soft. Wet. Strong. His face scratchy, bristles scraping over sensitive skin. It seemed an unbearable contrast, as he opened her with his tongue. Drew it flat along petals of flesh, then pointed it, swiping along a point so sensitive, so tortuously alluring, that she nearly broke free.

But he had placed her knees over his shoulders, and wedged his head between her thighs, in a purely tactical play. She could no more close herself off to his touch than she could his gaze. She was helpless beneath the ruthless strokes of his mouth, the prickle of coarse hair.

And he well knew it, judging by the smile on his face as he lifted his head, eyes meeting her.

“I’m hardly finished with you.” Orion informed the woman above him, breath cool against her heated flesh. “Let’s bargain, Keeper. I won’t place anything inside you that you do not first ask for. But in return, I must insist that I am allowed to write my name along your flesh. With my tongue as the pen.”

His nose bumped against that spot for a brief moment, but did not linger, as one of Ella’s clanmates had once mentioned during overheard whispers about her new bondmate, and his prowess. Instead, he was eager to treat her with his tongue and mouth, generous with that rapturous point of contact.

Sometimes, he worked with the flat of his tongue. Broad strokes, meant to soothe her when she thought she would expire on the spot. Other times, he took no issue with teasing her, pointing his tongue into a fine instrument, and drawing elaborate circles over the jut of flesh. Sometimes, it was a persistent grind. A steady line, back and forth along her intimate regions. But nevertheless, the champion drew letters over her clitoris, all meant to unlock the secrets of her flesh. To find the pulse and rhythm of her euphoria.

Orion Hawke.

Each letter made her nerves alive with sensation. By the time he finished, she was a jilted mess, all but ready to melt beneath his mouth.

But Orion would be damned if he did not treat his canvas, his craftsmanship, with proper grammar and punctuation.

Finally, he drew the little bud into his mouth, a full suck marking the end of his sentence.

Perhaps he could mark her with an ellipsis and continue onward, if she did not finish.

All sense, all language seemed gone to the Keeper. No longer was she thinking in the common tongue. No, even that had left her. All that was left was elven words, each flashing before her with every stroke of that marvelously wretched tongue.

Nuvenin. Need.

Sahlin. Now.

Shem. Fast.

Oh, what curses she could spit if she could find the words. But as Orion wrote upon her skin, all words were erased from her mind. Leaving her with nothing but a voided sense of reality. Something within her...heightened. Some deep bliss scratching under the surface of her skin, simply waiting to be released. Clawing its way from her abdomen and unto her mouth, making itself known.

Her thighs squeezed upon the Champion's head, her entire body coming together and flattening out as shivers took her. It was like she'd been blast with lightning, the tremors too much for the blush upon her cheeks, turning them crimson in the aftermath of her passion.

Her entire form seemed soaked. She tried to process what had just happened to her, was this what her clanswomen spoke of? Seeing stars before your eyes? Why... why did people not do this more often? Did they not know what it felt like? She'd been in the dark for so many years and now... Dread Wolf, take her, she wanted more.

With the bronzed skin of her bosom still rising and falling, she met Orion's lips with her own, tasting herself upon him. She soaked his whiskers, she realized. That blush returned with a vengeance.

“Ir abelas.” she apologized yet again, shyly smiling as she laid herself back down against the pillows. “I was not expecting it to be so... shaking.”

Surely there was a better word for it. But if there was, it had left her sensibilities.

Pushing back newly wet strands of pecan colored hair from her face, the Keeper laid herself on the pillows, catching her breath for a moment.

But a moment was all she had. Those eyes, the color of the sky on a warm and sunny day, looked down to the Champion's, knowing the look held with in his.

She was to be his meal.

But unlike before, knowing what bliss would await, the halla did not think to scatter. Certainly, she still held a bit of fear, as other girls in her clan had whispered--albeit loudly--over the pain of their first times. Ella never understood why they engaged in such things, why they would allow themselves to be pained in such a way.

And now she knew. By Mythal, how she knew.

Those innocent eyes only enticed Orion further, as he loomed over her with that impossibly muscled body of his. She braced herself with a breath, but the Champion was not a fumbling man with no experience. He knew how to ease himself in to her. How to cool the pain with soothing kisses. His whiskers distracted her, tickling her cheeks as something in her snapped.

There was a shock, but only for a mere moment. A pain. But it was soon healed with a kiss, as he slipped part of himself inside of her. That rose in her cheeks blossomed again as she dared to look down, watching their bodies merging into a single form.

She gasped, her back rising in rhythm to Orion’s thrusts, her nipples pebbled stone against his chest. She wanted more of him. She wanted to feel more, to rise right back to the occasion even if there was a bit of a sting.

“That’s right, sweetness. You can take more.” He growled softly into her ear, that wicked tongue playing along the pointed tip, and drawing it between his teeth, as he hitched inside.

Her walls bore down on him like cement, a hot band of pressure that soon slackened. Yielded to his gentle assault.

Something rigid lay in Orion’s smile, as he edged inside of her. As he angled her hips high, zeroing in a spot that made liquid fire spill through her core.

The champion set a slow, fluid pace, pumping inside with deep strokes, always knocking against the heated tissue inside. Always finding the spot that made her undulate in his grasp. It was different from the tiny point he’d nursed with his tongue. A deeper, more languid pleasure. Richer, slower, stronger.

But hot, prickling sparks soon joined that fluid rise, as his fingers dropped low. As they parked upon that precious point, and swept over it in bold motions.

She was impossibly tight. Hot. Newly wet, with every inch of friction he offered. A slow grin touched his face as he bent low, nuzzling her breasts for a brief moment, before a nipple was pulled into his mouth once more. As pink and pale as peonies. As her lips, before they were made swollen by his own.

Big hands smoothed over her hips, rough as hard tack, after so many years of bow work. He was large, so much more so than any of the men that had graced her clan. His shoulders were broad. His muscles sheer bulk, rather than lean, flat tone. 

This man was no hunter. No chaser of rabbits and fawn. When he fought, it was not to eat. Not to flush prey from their homes. His enemies bore horns and claws. Sharpened teeth and talons. But he fought against them as another predator would, defending his territory through cunning and wiles. And brute force, when cornered. His fights were not chases. They were challenges.

But despite this, he was tender as he splayed kisses along her breasts. Easy tempered and smiling, as his hips met hers, times and again.

And he was no dominating creature, eager to show off his power. His prowess. Instead, he was determined to make this an easy matter. A soft, supple pleasure.

Well…maybe not so easy.

Had it not been for his years of experience, his iron control, Orion might have spilled inside her the moment he swiveled her hips, placing her atop him. The way she clenched upon him, in surprise.

Anxiety creased her features. Marred the green of her tattoo, as she stared down at the man below her. She was flush, aroused, uncertain of how to continue, but most eager to do so.

“You seemed to enjoy having me beneath you, a moment ago.” Orion’s voice emerged as a husky whisper, his fingers splaying over her belly, and drawing upward, tweaking the stiff point of a nipple as he relaxed, folding his arms beneath his head, eager to watch the perk and tilt of her breasts bounce high, atop him.

That teasing smile returned, unbearably cheeky, in the face of her obvious struggle. “Ride me, Keeper. Just as you might one of your halla.”

“This.” His fingers clasped her hips, holding her steady as he drove upward, the solid stroke making her gasp, before he settled back down. “Is your saddle, and your reins.”

“You can manage.” He assured her, a big hand smoothing over her breast, that grin widening, and his cock swelling, as he imagined the shape carved in tree bark.

For a moment, that scowl came back upon the Keeper's pink lips. She'd been so sure of what would happen, so confident in her pleasure in the feelings to come…why would the Champion do such a thing? Why would he give her the reins when she was so contented as they were?

She was unsure. Her body was unsure. Confidence was never her strong suit. Ella was the girl on the bench, the Keeper with a scowl. She did not know how to…take such things.

And yet, she was always the curious sort.

To ride the Champion as she rode a halla? It was almost preposterous. Insanity. That she could blossom into such a creature and take control in that way?

And even still, her hips moved. Some part of her eager to feel those tremors of the soul once more.

Tentatively at first, like the first time she was placed on a halla. She gathered her bearings. She smoothed a hand over the Champion's hard chest, allowing herself to rise and fall, just once. Just a taste to test the waters below her, just a hint of what was to come.

And that heat in her core turned molten.

By Mythal, if there was more than one way to elicit such pleasure from her, how many other intricacies lay out there? The possibilities were almost endless, were they not?

Those pink lips parted again, this time in a confident moan as she rode the man below her. Slowly at first, as she allowed her tight core to adjust. But soon, her motions hastened, her hands running through her hair as quickly as a rabbit through the forest.

Her entire form seemed almost on fire, but it was such an encompassing flame. This was no mere singe with a spell, this was true fire. This was warmth on a cold winter's night. This was the heat of a stove creating a new potion. This was the campfire of her people as the hahren told stories of old. It was fervor. Temper. As if someone had bottled the gleam in her eyes when a challenging an ideal.

That supple form gracefully lowered, her lips coming to his again as a rouge hand smoothed over his own pointed ears. They were marvelous, an utter crime that they were hidden in such a way, but such a treat to her own touch.

Once more that heated potion began to boil in her, mews escaping her lips like a kitten, her back arched fully forgetting every last inclination of her indignant mind. No longer was this a halla riding over him, this was a woman, soft, graceful, and yet fiery in her bliss.

Orion, Ella soon realized, was comfortable in his passions. No longer a slave to them, but a master. Enough, that he could not only curse, and spit, and catch his breath, as she had longed to do when his tongue had worked upon her. He could craft eloquent words, even phrases, as she rose above him, riding his length.

And the champion absolutely loved the sound of his own voice.

“Would you like to know what you taste like?” He queried, a smirk drawing over his face, as he settled back into his relaxed position: A hand pillowing beneath his head, exposing the handsome swell of a heavy bicep, and the sharp angle of an elbow, along with the neatly trimmed nest of hair, hiding in his armpit. “Like honeysuckle, and mint. Sweet and wild, with a sharp twinge of flavor. One that bites at the edge of the tongue.”

Ella was stunned to feel his cock thicken even further inside her, the flared tip of him nudging a place that made sweet, languid pleasure flurry alongside that fire. A new spill of hot serum wetting her core, and the rigid length inside.

“And these.” That lazy grin returned, as he splayed a hand along her chest, catching the swell of a breast, and tugging gently at the stiff, cinnamon-painted peak. “Small. Tight. Firm. I could watch these bounce atop me for some time. An eternity seems sufficient.”

Slowly, his thumb drifted upward, casing the shine of her full, lower lip, before edging along the green of Vasellin. “I can scarcely believe that your elders only marked your face with such pretty designs. A lovely sketch, but hardly enough to be called a painting. Not when so much of the canvas lies untouched.”

The pads of his fingers started a feather light trail down below, creating a blueprint for the design he imagined upon her body. “Down the path of your throat, most certainly. Sharp, feathered strokes, where your pulse quickens the hardest.”

“And lower,” He continued, big hand skimming the sides of her tip-tilted breasts, smoothing over the slopes. “A pattern of stars, perhaps. No! A tangle of vines. Nothing so thick as Deathroot, or even Prophet’s Laurel. Elfroot, perhaps. Or Arbor Blessing. Something to paint the architecture, but not to overwhelm.”

“Though I could see a stray pattern of roots, curling about this.” He chuckled, giving the tight, bronze-capped nipple an audacious tug. “That, we could certainly draw attention to.”

“And lower.” He murmured, dragging a knuckle down the flat line of her belly. “Blood lotus. Though perhaps that is too simple. Maybe Crystal Grace? The stems marking your hips, perhaps? And the flower touching…right…”

“Here.” Orion answered, as his little finger dipped into her navel. Again, he stiffened inside her. Thick and hard as ironbark as she worked atop him, her walls bearing down harder, her motions quickening with each word he spoke.

“And of course, who would neglect the finest piece of craftsmanship?” The champion laughed, as he carved a pattern below her navel. “Felandaris. Slow, winding trails. A route leading right to…”

His answer held no words. Only the brush of his fingers, dipping low, and parting the layers of her sex, thumb pressing hard against the little nub of flesh. The piece of her that promised the greatest pleasure.

“Or, perhaps a straight path. Witherstalk, right to this point, for those too simple to find it themselves.” Orion grinned, his cock branching inside her like Amrita Vein. Proud and upthrust, an eager mantle for her passions.

Fen'harel's teeth, how was the Champion still able to speak at this point? She could not form words--much less even think of a sentence--and there he lay, crafting an entire tale of her body while she moved over him. How... how was such a thing even possible?

And to use such craft in those words? Surely there was some trick to this. Some spell of the mind, or perhaps simply experience. The Keeper could barely register what he was speaking of. Herbs? Was that it? Herbs on her body? That would be... dangerous wouldn't it?

At this point, did she even care if it was dangerous?

No, not really.

All she could register, all she could feel across her tingling skin was the want—no, the need for that hard flesh below to inch her closer to shuddering bliss. Pleasure crafted only by the grace of the Creator's themselves.

The sensation of his thumb on her sex, and his length so solid inside of her, was terribly rapturous. All sense--no, everything--had gone from her, leaving the Keeper with only an animal need for this. For the rogue's particular brand of potions. The ones that only he could create.

Years, he must have spent, crafting every last ingredient added in. Oh, the trials he must have faced, the errors occurred until reaching this point of perfection. It was no mere chance that he was so skilled, no fumble of his self. No, this was training. This was a service all of its own.

And by Mythal, was she enjoying the effects of it.

A tremor took her for a moment. Something small, something just to elicit a giggle as she moved above him. That giggle was followed by a marvelous gasp as she rode atop him, another set of tremors taking her, that haze in front of her thickening with only one light to guide her back home again.

The Keeper climbed, reached, searched for that light. Her entire form was drenched in sweat, ready for its homecoming. Ready to finally reach that sweet destination set before her by the roguish man below.

And when it came, when she finally reached through the haze and grabbed that illumination, the sort that ripped a scream from her mouth, the Champion had no choice but to join her.

Ella gasped, every last bit of her breath leaving her once more as she fell over, her chest colliding with Orion's. The healer chuckled, a real chuckle, as that blush appeared back on her cheeks, unable to leave his arms.

The morning would come, the Champion would be called to the side of the Warden’s, the Inquisitor called to her own duties against Corypheus. 

But their hearts would forever remain in that bedroom, with nothing but tangled limbs.


	3. Later that Night...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After spending time together, the Champion and Inquisitor engage in the bedroom once more.

A grin settled along Orion’s face, as he looked at her in the aftermath of passion. Flush, glistening, bosom rising with every breath.

Simple viewing was not enough, and Orion soon gathered Ella into his arms. One set of fingers braced her close, while the wicked counterpart wandered low, touching inside sore flesh, and gathering a sample of their intimate elixir.

Shock colored her face, as he dabbed his finger between his lips. That grin soon returned, and his voice became a rich, low growl. “You would be amazed by the number of alchemical solutions that can be crafted from the aftermath of such passions.”

“Or the joys that linger alongside them.” That smirk bloomed anew on his face, as he ran his fingers through damp whiskers, recalling the flavor her innocence. Her scent, before he’d marked her with his own. “I may never wash my face again.”

What?

No, no, no. What was the Champion doing? This couldn't be right? The Keeper's face twisted as she looked to the wetness of his whiskers. It was...That was...It looked...unsanitary.

“Alchemical what's?” The Keeper blinked, sitting up in the bed and looking to the man below. Horror passed across her face. “Why...Why?”

No, no, no. This couldn't be right. Wasn't part of that elixir his own... and he tasted it? Well, she supposed she'd done the same on his lips. She'd tasted her own salted honey on him. And to suggest that she use it for....

“What kind of alchemical solutions...?” The words left the Keeper's lips before she could stop them. She covered her mouth with her hands, cheeks flushing beneath her vallaslin. She sat up, still completely undressed, and uncertain whether to cover her breasts... or remain covering her mouth.

What had even possessed her to be curious about such things? What had this man done to her?

“Love potions mainly, for those too foolish to understand that such things can hardly be crafted. Not the truth of the matter, in any case.” Orion chuckled, as he laid her back on the mattress, parting her knees. Green hues swept over the glistening crease between her thighs, his smile utterly filthy, as he considered further possibilities. Oh, the things he could show this innocent maiden, if she would allow him.

His fingers dropped low, smoothing over the rise of her cheek, the point of her chin, and the full swell of her lips. Deft fingers found almond-colored tresses, bringing them right to his face, and taking a breath of honeysuckle and mint.

“Virilty too, of course. Even potions to alter the memory, if one is particularly talented.” His manhood began to grow stiff once more, drawing into a bold upthrust. Ella could scarcely believe he’d conjured it so quickly after their last bonding.

He was brazen in his interest. His grin. His wandering touch. All a stark contrast to the rosy contours of her cheeks. The squirm of her hips, as she make a half-hearted attempt to close her thighs. Fruitless, she soon realized, as his fingers drifted over her mound. Quickly, he flushed out the shy peak of her greatest pleasure, half-hidden beneath its hood.

Heat awakened inside her, as his thumb ground against that point. As his head bent, and his tongue flicked out against her sex, tasting the blend of her honey, and his salt. His scent intertwining with hers, musky and spiced, while hers was perfumed and feminine.

“You’re a curious sort, aren’t you?” He blew a cool breath over the heated, swollen flesh of her womanhood. Bristles scraped sensitive skin. “Surely…there’s more you must be wondering after?”

Of course there were things she wondered about. She spent her days in old tomes, all aspects of her life consumed by curiosity. Often at a cost.. And what would the price be this time, she wondered. What part of herself would she need to give for this new interest?

And how had he risen so quickly? Was this even something she wished to do? Once... Once could be blamed upon passion.. The heat of the moment, and the honeyed baritone of an unapologetic rogue. A choice she halfway pondered now.

But wasn't twice a... liberty? Twice was giving herself. Twice was giving a part of her, more than he'd already taken.

“I'm wondering if you hold some sort of magic to corrupt me in this way.” The Keeper scowled for a moment, her back arching as Orion hit a particularly sensitive spot. “I'm wondering what sort of demon you might be.”

Her hips swiveled closer to the Champion's lips, and she blushed, that scowl fading away as her lips parted in a moue.. Even with the ravishing she'd just received, that moue was still laced in innocence. Those lovely pecan strands sprayed over the pillows, each still soaked from their first tumble in these sheets.

“I'm wondering if--” She paused, another moan coming from her, “I'm wondering if--”

Dread Wolf, take her. Orion was doing it yet again. Taking the words right from her mouth. Clouding her mind with that...haze.

“I'm wondering if I should kiss you or slap you.”

Ella tried her hardest to push out commanding words. She wished to add force to her presence... but all authority was bleeding outward with every press of that demon-sent tongue.

“A common sentiment, I’ve been told..” Orion admitted, his chuckle vibrating pleasantly against her nether regions, as his head lifted high. A spark appeared in pools of green, as an idea came to him.

“Cast a little frost on your fingers, if you would.” He implored, gathering her hand in his own.  
The moment a chill overtook her index finger, Orion swallowed it, his tongue curling about the frozen digit until chips of ice broke into his mouth.

That lascivious tongue returned to wet, pink silk. Laving frost along her heated folds, making her squirm and gasp beneath his ruthless mouth. But he would allow her no rest. No escape from his torrid machinations, as he swept over the bud of her clitoris. The chill along sensitive nerves enough to make the edges of her vision stain white, as rapture threatened to explode inside her, once again.

Orion knew full and well what sort of demon he would be, if such a concept were true. Desire was an easy answer. Simple. Greed and selfishness were his calling cards, but they could not carry the full weight of his presence.

No, the Champion was no creature of such base passions. Such simple design.

The creature atop of Sundermount had told him exactly what Orion truly was. What truly lay in every glib word, every clever scheme, every selfish act.

Had Orion been a demon, he would have been one conjured by Pride. The sort of creature that took what was best inside a person, and turned it against them.

Needling Ella with her own clever mind, and curious nature, was an unparalleled delight.

The Keeper looked down to the man with a sudden realization... she hadn't considered how magic could factor into this.

She wondered if it was any different with a mage? What spells could be used, and where? Surely such a thing was dangerous. But so was Orion. He proved more dangerous than any demon she'd come across in the Fade. He'd tempted her terribly. She'd traded part of her soul. She'd lost part of her innocence.

And he was not done yet.

Tanned knuckles grabbed the sheets below, as ice smoothed over slick heat. But in all her days as a mage, Ellana Lavellan was never the sort to play with such elements. No. Fire and Ice were not her expertise. She was lightning in a bottle and the earth below her. She felled trees with her anger, urging something new to grow in its place.

Her form seemed to pulse, her skin incandescent with shock. It surged through her system, crackling against the Champion's tongue, and melting that pesky ice.

Ella blushed as awareness spread through her.

“Are you alright?” she asked, concern softening her face, “Did I hurt you?”

Orion touched his fingers to his lips, chasing the electric tingle.

Lightning. Pride’s folly. Pride’s weapon.

How very serendipitous.

Sparks chased Orion’s tongue as he bent his head once more. He did not speak. Did not take a moment to reassure her with her words. No, his answer lay in the spread of his tongue along satin folds. In the deep-seated caress of his wicked mouth, and the trench of his fingers upon her hips. Holding her still, as he tasted her pleasure once more.

It was all too tempting to toss her knees over his shoulders, and plant himself inside her once more. But she was newly deflowered. Tight. Gifted with a slim, small tunnel of femininity. So elven in its nature. To thrust inside her a second time would doubtlessly leave her sore, what with his bruising weight. He would not extend himself in such a manner. Not without an invitation.

But for the time being, she was juiced and succulent as honeyed pomegranate seeds. Something tart, edged with sweetness. Spice and pepper now lingered in her arousal, as lightning struck her flesh.

It was no burden to dampen his whiskers in the space between her thighs, and taste her fully.

Before Orion could rip another piece of her innocence away, Ella paused. Stopped even, that surge of lightning never leaving her form as the Keeper pushed him back against the mattress.

Her body knew the motions this time, they knew the feeling that would come. And she was...excited. There was no blush upon the Inquisitor’s cheeks. No awkward movements of her hips, untouched by anyone else. No, this time the Keeper was prepared. She'd finished her studies. She'd scoured the book of bonding. She knew what feeling she wished to elicit from herself.

She pushed down on the hard plane of the Champion's chest, lightning chasing her touch. She was not as other women were, room filled with paintings of monarchs or precious jewels. No, the Keeper's room was filled with potions. With books. Lovely vegetation sprouting in every place imaginable.

Reaching for the nearby end table, she opened the drawer, grabbing a healing potion. Uncorking it with her teeth, then blushing at her brashness, she smoothed a bit over Orion's length. If she was to try this again, no pain would be felt. Only surging pleasure.

She guided him into her with those lithe hands, so often used for casting spells of growth. But this man needed no such thing. He was large enough without the presence of a magical spell. Pecan-colored strands hung heavy over her back as she began to ride, exposing her bare throat. An enticing meal for a sly fox to consume.

But there was a subtlety to her actions. Just as he reached, she retreated. 

There was a focus to her movements, as if the Keeper had planned this entire matter from the very beginning.

A roguish grin took over Orion’s mouth, as he took note of the rhythm she’d started. Teasing little minx, thinking that she might outwit him in this regard.

Little did she know how many cards he held in his deck. How quickly he might shock her, once more.

Tempting as it was to allow her to continue, a far more delectable notion soon rose to the forefront of his mind.

A gasp left the woman, as she was abruptly lifted from her stiff saddle, and placed on the other side of his hips.

The rogue spun out from his position in a fluid motion, his weight soon settling behind the Keeper. Long fingers returned to her hips, lifting her up to her knees.

Her thighs spread wide, she could feel rigid flesh glossing against her entrance. Teasing the sodden pink folds, before nudging inside, and spearing her fully.

She was at the utter mercy of his thrusts. Slow. Gentle. Taking consideration of her tight, newly plundered flesh. But he was still ruthless in his passions. One set of fingers dipped low, and brushed over the throbbing point of her highest pleasure, as the other settled over a tip-tilted breast, carefully running a thumb along its peak.

The scratch of whiskers met her cheek, and when she turned her head, he caught her lower lip between his teeth. A sharp nip, before it transformed into another deep, marauding kiss.

“As I said before, there are so many things that I might introduce you to.” A grin swept over his face, before his mouth dropped, tongue casing over the pointed tip of an ear. Before he pulled it between his lips, and sucked strong. She went slick inside at the motion. Her muscles squeezed in a hot surge of rhythm, chasing the motions of his cock.

“How do you suppose we should finish this, little morsel?” His voice was guttural deep. Nearly a snarl, if not for the rich, easy rumble in his throat. “You could mount me once again, I suppose. I would hardly object. Especially with these right before my eyes.”

His fingers swept upward, cupping the small peaks of her breasts, as he snapped his hips upward, teasing a spot that was so delectable, she nearly finished on the spot. “Or, perhaps you enjoy being on your knees, with me hard inside you. I can reach you so easily from here.”

Her thighs were stretched even further, newfound tightness casing his length, stroking her depths even more thickly. “Or perhaps, you’d like to stand. To see if your knees give out from under you, when my cock pushes inside. Perhaps you’d like to find your footing atop my own toes, and pray that you do not slip. Or maybe you might like to bind your ankles behind my back, and hold onto my shoulders, as I thrust?”

“Or, perhaps you would prefer me not to finish inside you. Perhaps the texture of my cock does not fascinate you nearly so much as the promises of my tongue.” A chuckle sounded from the man, as he licked the triangle of her ear. “Would you care for that, sweetling? Would you like me to bend my knees before you, and worship at the altar of your cunt? Or, would you prefer that I stay on my back, while you take your pleasure upon the whole of my face? What would you prefer, morsel?” 

“I think I’m not going to play another one of your games.” The Keeper quickly detached herself from Orion's grasp. She would not be base in such a way. What pleasures could she take with her backside in the air? No, perhaps she was a shy woman, but she was no mewling kitten.

Ella's plants seemed to come alive. Snarling, snapping, and surrounding Orion's limbs with their magic. Those branches moved to their mistress’s will, binding him to the floor.

She did not blush this time. There was no innocence left in that stare. Only fulmination. She was no longer a halla, no longer even a Keeper. No, behind those alluringly eyes laid the beating heart of a predator. One eager to entice her prey.

She pounced, rebellion burning in those blue eyes. No, she was not a woman to submit. She was Dalish. She was proud. Her people would not submit. They would not give into the whims of shemlen society, and she would not surrender to one man.

She would take her passion, and she would take it how she pleased. Those roots tightened along Orion's skin, never breaching flesh, but binding long enough for her to center herself. For her to sink upon him once more.

Her mouth did not seal over his in a kiss. She did not allow him the touch of her lips. He'd squandered such treasures with his prideful boasting. For the vallaslin on her cheeks was of Mythal, the goddess not only of love... but of vengeance.

And vengeance she would have.

Oh, those lush hips moved. They coaxed, they tormented.. Those spelltouched hands moved along her form, bringing her own pleasures to light. She teased her breasts, she touched her most sensitive spot, she undulated. Her body was the paradise of Arlathan.

And just as she ripped her pleasure from Orion... she removed herself. Leaving him hard and swollen, and strapped to that floor by the roots of her whims.

That rebellion never left that brilliant blue, but the scowl soon faded, replacing itself with a wicked smirk. A true testament to the predator inside.

“You should deal with that.” Ella sassed, as she gathered her clothes, quickly placing the fabrics back on her skin, “I hear such things can be rather...painful...if left unchecked. There may be a potion of healing under my bed, if you can manage to reach it in time.”

“An ordeal, but hardly a foreign one.” Orion noted balefully, oddly untroubled by the vines upon his wrists and ankles. Though a tight line in his jaw was quick to betray his frustration, as he glanced at the rock-hard flesh below his waist. “Well played.”

“However.” His voice teased along her skin like warm honey. “You must understand that should you leave now, I will consider it a forfeit.”

“I think I'll take the forfeit with this image in mind.” Ella gathered the lower half of her robe, sliding dark green silk along her legs, her hips waggling in an enticing manner, “What is that shemlen saying? 'Quit while you're ahead.'”

Still, she crouched down for a moment and pressed a soft kiss to the Champion's cheek, that innocent blush dotting her face once more. She whispered something in elven, though Orion had no clue what. Perhaps one last compliment, perhaps a soft whisper of thanks, perhaps some curse handed down from Keeper to Keeper.

Orion would never know.

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written by the fabulous http://arrowmaker247.tumblr.com/ who owns Orion <3 <3


End file.
